A siblings responsibility
by GhostOfChernobyl
Summary: Arthur doesnt like Alfreds new job, Nor does he Like the way others look at him. Francis Agree's with him, even though it is francis's fault... But a Certain scarf wearing man makes the English Gentlemen go over the edge. Human names Used. Rated M just to be safe.


yo welcome to my first story! ^w^ This story is going to have human names used, along with some err.. NON-con. Not detailed but enough to let the imagination wonder. so if you dont like it, dont read it. other then that... 3~

Hetalia doesnt belong to me, nor does ANY of the characters.

Arthur never agreed to this, nor does he approve of it… That was Francis's job, but even the Frenchmen agreed with him on this. Sitting on the farthest side of the bar, the two men watched in annoyance. Alfred F Jones, their little brother, son… whatever you wanted to call it, was serving Drinks. That wasn't the problem at all, nope they didn't mind. It was what he was wearing that they disapproved on. A pair of bear ears, a necktie with matching cuffs and a mini apron... God forbid the boy had any class, but he wore it so proudly. Even the 'I love new York' briefs he had on didn't help sooth their annoyance.

Every time he left a table, a hand went to grab at his ass. He'd shoo it off with a laugh, hell he even smiled that Hollywood smile of his while he did it. Arthur just sipped his beer as he tsked in annoyance as he saw another hand grab at The All American ass.

"Bloody hell... They need to stop." The Englishmen growled

"Mon petite Lapin… If this was a different time and place..." Francis sighed as he went sipping his wine, just eyeing Alfred.

"You do know this is YOUR fault Francis!"

"Moi!? How is this ANYWHERE near my fault?" he gasped

"You bloody well told him to get the job here!"

"I didn't think they would make him wear that!"

The sudden bickering caught the bear eared blonds attention as he strolled over to them. The two men who raised him were arguing over something once again, probably the Englishmen's terrible cooking. Moving his hand over he snatched the empty beer glass before it could be used as a weapon.

"Doods calm down." He frowned as he finally got their attention. Noticing Arthur's red eyes, and Francis's matching pair of drunken eyes.

"Think you guys need to stop drinking… ill go get you guys a coffee and Redbull."

Turning around, Arthur and Francis froze as he spotted those briefs…. Damn it all, they were certainly attention grabbing. Arthur covered his face with his hands as he growled. Francis just crossed his arms as he went leaning back, just hoping the American didn't bring his coffee black. Looking over at where the American went to he spotted a scarf wearing man who was talking to him.

"Arthur…" Francis whispered, making the other look over as he paled and frowned.

"Oh god… Not now." Arthur frowned as he went debating on either to get up or not.

The American just laughed as he smacked away the Russians hand suddenly, but that laugh was a poor excuse of an angry cover up. They knew that boy well enough to know when that smile was fake. Ivan just tilt his head some as he went watching the other disappear behind the bar. Tilting his head some before he looked over at Arthur and Francis and smiled softly. That sent Arthur's blood boiling as Francis had to keep his hand on his shoulder to avoid him from leaping at the other.

"I swear Francis, I DO NOT like that Wanker..."

"Yes mon Amour, we all know…"

They agreed they would leave the bar together with Alfred, but shit never went as planned. Francis had to leave to take a certain Prussian and Spaniard home, they drank themselves stupid. Grumbling to himself, Arthur just went moving outside to go and grab a smoke. He stopped smoking in the early 1900's, but well… Goddamn America made him pick up the nasty habit once more.

Managing to successfully retrieve his pack from the car, he went rounding the back. Having agreed with Alfred earlier that day he would meet him there when he got off. Lighting up the cigarette as he went turning the corner as he stopped, hearing a noise he tilt his head. Moving slowly over to the edge of the alley he went peeking his fuzzy blond head in. The sight made his stomach do flips as his nails dug into the concrete wall making deep cracks appear.

Alfred was up against the wall, his hands tied behind his back with what appeared to be his missing apron. Face bloodied and what appeared to be fast growing bruises along his cheek and eye. Back arched as a gloved hand was over his mouth blocking his cries. The Blonds body was being pounded against the wall hard with each harsh movement of the Russians hips.

Biting down so hard on his lip, he watched in horror and anger as Alfred…. His little American baby…. Every Fiber of his gentlemanly pride was disappearing instantly as his vision turned to nothing but red… Red for the Communist basterds blood.

It didn't take no more then a few seconds as he went running towered them, the discarded, rusted Faucet pipe on the floor… All but forgotten by its owner was soon in the Englishmen's hand as a sickening crack filled the silent alleyway….


End file.
